


Gluttony

by ShevatheGun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M, Nook, Nook Worship, Tentabulges, Xeno, xenocunnilingus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShevatheGun/pseuds/ShevatheGun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and you are absolutely, positively, beyond all doubt, hands-down KING OF EATING NOOK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gluttony

==> BE DAVE STRIDER.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are absolutely, positively, beyond all doubt, hands-down KING OF EATING NOOK. 

You eat nook like a fucking _champion_ , man. If eating nook were a record, they wouldn’t put you in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – they’d have to build a whole new _wing_ on the joint. If eating nook were a Guinness World Record, they’d have to write an entirely new _volume_ including only your entry. If eating nook were an Olympic sport, you would bring home all the medals. All of them. Hell, if they could even find opportunity to _give you_ all those medals while the entire population of Alternia was busy pailing your suave-as-fuck coolkid face. Oh yeah, you can see it all now: you on the top step of the Olympic podium, speakers blaring _The Star-Spangled Banner_ , Old Glory a billowing curtain behind you as every troll in existence alien-creams themselves at the mere sight of you. _That’s him_ , they’re whispering tremulously en mass, little gray thighs all aquiver. _That’s the guy who played Karkat like a goddamn nook harmonica. Dare we even to gaze upon him in all of his god tier xeno-cunnilingal splendor? I mean holy shit dude, that was some truly mad nook eating, I can hardly even contain myself._

And why should they bother? Containing themselves, you mean. The worship, that can continue. Hell, you are a nook eating gold medalist – basically akin to a sexual _deity_ at this point – anything less than unanimous, implicit veneration would be close to sacrilege.

==>

Jegus, you could quite literally spend all day thinking about just how decidedly fantastic you are at eating nook. You really could.

But you won’t, because you aren’t a tool.

Besides, why would you bother (re: occupy all available mental faculties with laudatory self-commendations on your own borderline legendary nook eating talents) when that particular intellectual station has already been relegated to a far more suitable individual?

You are talking, of course, about KARKAT VANTAS.

…oh. Right.

Him.

You kind of forgot about him.

==> DAVE: STOP IGNORING KARKAT.

[Hide Dialoglog]

KARKAT: STRIDER.  
KARKAT: WHILE I CAN CERTAINLY APPRECIATE HOW STRENUOUS THE SIMPLE ACT OF COGNIZANCE MUST BE ON YOUR CONTEMPTIBLY PALTRY SHIT EXCUSE OF A THINKPAN  
KARKAT: WOULD YOU GO AHEAD AND DO ME A COLLOSAL FAVOR  
KARKAT: AND FUCKING HARKEN BACK TO THIS CURENT PLANE OF REALITY.  
KARKAT: PREFERABLY SOMETIME BEFORE MY COMMON SENSE RETURNS FROM ITS SABATACLE.  
KARKAT: YOU PATHETIC WASTE OF ORGANS.  
DAVE: hey whoa now with the pillow talk  
DAVE: come on man keep it together i was only content to ignore your existence for  
DAVE: i dont know maybe 2 or so minutes  
KARKAT: YOU HAVE BEEN SITTING THERE.  
KARKAT: MOTIONLESS.  
KARKAT: FOR TWO MINUTES.  
KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING.  
DAVE: hey  
DAVE: its a process  
DAVE: maybe im meditating  
DAVE: maybe you just interrupted my ascension into nirvana  
DAVE: i could have been lingering on the precipice of a sexual shangri-la  
DAVE: mere moments away from becoming a bodhisattva of nook-eatery  
DAVE: think about that  
KARKAT: MY KNEES ARE GETTING TIRED YOU IMPLACABLE FUCK.  
DAVE: okay okay chill out already goddamn your voice is like the sirens call of migraines

==> DAVE: GET KARKAT’S PANTS OFF.

What are you, his goddamn _nanny_? 

Oh, wow, no, weird porny image there. Point made, though – Karkat’s old enough to get ate out, Karkat’s old enough to get his own damn pants off and oh god this is the least sexy way you could have phrased this you’re going to stop now before you give yourself erectile dysfunction. 

==>

[Hide Dialoglog]

DAVE: so are you going to maybe stop taking forever so we can do this  
KARKAT: WOULD YOU SHUT YOUR RIDICULOUS MOUTH I’M GOING.  
DAVE: yeah no  
DAVE: going  
DAVE: is not the word id use  
KARKAT: HOLD YOUR GODDAMN SKIN TOGETHER YOU IMPETUOUS FUCK.  
DAVE: i have had neopets who starved to death faster than you can get your pants off  
DAVE: dude youre an embarrassment  
KARKAT: GODDAMMIT  
DAVE: you put them on how hard is it to do the opposite  
DAVE: honestly  
KARKAT: WOULD YOU FUCKING STOP  
KARKAT: WITH THE INCESSENT, IMPRUDENT FLAPPING  
KARKAT: OF THAT ABSURD LOOKING OH MY GOD

==>

[Hide Dialoglog]

DAVE: did you seriously just  
DAVE: fall on my dick  
DAVE: with all the force of an acme anvil  
DAVE: onto a wily coyote  
DAVE: is that seriously  
DAVE: how this is going down  
KARKAT: GODDAMMIT MY LEG’S STUCK

==> DAVE: DEAL WITH THIS IDIOT.

You are currently in way too much pain to even think about dealing with this asstard. Seriously, the universe is clearly conspiring against your erection. On the tentative up side, you’re pretty sure that this is the first time Karkat’s ever taken the time to grind on you, although he’s only doing it because he’s trying to kick his jeans off, and he’s not so much grinding as he is squirming, which is not nearly as nice as it sounds because (a) he is, in no uncertain terms, crushing your dick like it’s wheat to his ass pestle and (b) he is the boniest fuck you have ever met.

He shifts to the side and fucking ow okay this needs to not be happening anymore.

==> DAVE: TAKE CHARGE OF THIS CLUSTERFUCK.

[Hide Dialoglog]

DAVE: holy fuck it doesnt matter just get your nook over here you incredible dipshit  
KARKAT: WOULD YOU SHUT UP, FOR SHIT’S SAKE.  
DAVE: look  
DAVE: i just presented you with an all season unlimited pass  
DAVE: to the magical adventure land that is sitting on my face  
DAVE: you could try being gracious  
DAVE: or something  
KARKAT: IF I WERE EVEN CAPABLE OF FEELING SUCH A THING, I WOULD MOST LIKELY BE EVEN MORE INSULTED BY YOUR LACK OF DEFERENCE YOU IGNONAMOUS MUDSUCKING SACK OF BEETLE SHIT.  
KARKAT: I MEAN, HERE I AM, NOOK WET AND PRACTICALLY IN HAND.  
KARKAT: AND YOU CAN’T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO PRETEND TO REGARD THIS AS THE ASTONISHING AND EXTRAORDINARY HONOR IT SO VERY CLEARLY IS.  
DAVE: okay ill be honest  
DAVE: you totally lost me at wet nook

==> DAVE: STOP FANTASIZING.

What, no way man, fantasizing is awesome. And extremely easy to do, what with there actually being a from-the-waist-down-naked Karkat straddling your face and wearing what is almost certainly a self-effacing expression, which you’re not sure whether or not you like because it doesn’t seem particularly in character, but Karkat’s character can basically be described, in a word, as repulsive in an extremely general sort of way and, in a phrase, as being full of all kinds of hypocritical, socially retarded, caustic douchefuckery. 

Seriously, you would almost _rather_ fantasize about having sex with this asshole than actually do it – what with all the QUADRANT SHENANIGANS going on lately, it would probably be MUCH LESS COMPLICATED. 

==>

Honestly, you aren’t sure exactly how it all started, you being Karkat’s KISMESIS. You’re pretty sure it has something to do with John. Actually, you’re pretty fucking positive it has something to do with John – most things concerning Karkat have to do with John. Hell, most things concerning _you_ have to do with John – he’s a pretty worrisome dude.

Not that he doesn’t take to auspisticizing like a sea dwelling troll to water (at least in your not-so-humble non-troll opinion), but you two aren’t bromates for nothing. And it’s hard not to be pretty fucking concerned where John is…

You know. Concerned.

==> DAVE: SERIOUSLY, GET IT TOGETHER.

Okay, Jegus, keep your shirt on.

==> DAVE: EXPLAIN THE MECHANICS.

Xenobiology is actually pretty interesting, once you give it a chance. Trolls are a hermaphroditic race – a bone bulge and nook for every little troll boy and girl – so figuring shit out is less challenging than you’d think; as long as you have at least a smidgeon of sexual knowledge to your name, you’ll be basically fine.

You’re Dave Strider. You don’t do “smidgeons” of anything. You hardly know the meaning of the word. Actually, you had to Google that shit – search: _who the fuck bothers to do a fucking smidgeon of anything_ – before using it just then, just to be completely certain that it existed.

Karkat is your troll anatomy study partner, whether he likes it or not; actually, you’re pretty sure he does like it, but you kind of hope he doesn’t (not that you need any real excuse to make him miserable; that’s a talent that comes to you _au naturale_ ). You’ve really made a go of it too – fucking _How To Train Your Dragon_ all up in this bitch, you be burnin’ the midnight oil, you be runnin’ the meanest game, you be drawing _all the diagrams_ , makin’ bitches scream your name and by bitches you mean Karkat and that pointless designation may have just ruined what could have been one of the _sickest flows in all creation_. Whatever, dope raps can wait. Fuckin’ benchin’ your ass, dope raps. Called out for traveling and just generally being _way too ill to handle_. Damn, man, you are the coolest of fucking cool.

Seriously though, you _have_ drawn diagrams. Not in a creepy way – John wanted a cheat sheet, and being that you’re bromates, you saw fit to oblige him. It’s simple enough: a small, barely-noticeable arch of bone, tucked directly beneath his belly, along the front of his pelvis, which you know for a fact contains his bulge; a fleshy slit, now damp and open as a wound, between his legs. You’re still not sure exactly how he pees. Or if he pees. You kind of wonder if—

Wow, you are really going hard with the badly timed, completely undesirable thought tangents today.

==> DAVE: OKAY STOP EXPLAINING THIS IS BORING.

[Hide Dialoglog]

KARKAT: MY GOD, STRIDER, WOULD YOU TUNE THE FUCK IN FOR ALL OF FIVE MINUTES.  
KARKAT: I HAVE MET SOLAR DEBRIS LESS SPACEY THAN YOU.

==> DAVE: GO TO WORK.

You’re going to go ahead and ignore the fact that that was quite possibly the punniest ever – you refuse to ruin this moment, because this is probably your favorite way ever to shut Karkat up. And you _really_ like shutting Karkat up, so that’s saying something. 

You don’t just fucking dive in, of course. You’re not tactless. Eating nook is not a bust-down-the-door-guns-blazing-ridiculous-80’s-temple-robber-theme-music-in-the-background kind of venture. You lean up, left hand coming to rest on the inside of his thigh, your right moving down to try and massage the residual pain out of your own little soldier in a _buck up kiddo, hooah_ kind of motion. You kiss the warm skin of his stomach. He shudders. 

So far, so good.

==>

You move your hand up over his thigh, wrapping it around his hip, pressing against the sharp wing of his pelvis; you take the moment to feel it, that angular shoulder of bone, through his skin, forehead and nose pressed to his sternum. You inhale deeply – _damn_ , you can smell him. It is like the Bath & Body Works of Karkat-nook-smell up in here. You kiss his stomach again, nuzzle a bit further down, running your hand back over his ass, which you give a good pinch in the name of irony, before you let your fingers trail back down his leg to his knee. You trace the cap; let your forefinger dig into the hot little well of skin behind. You squeeze his calf, then his thigh, a little harder than you need to. You let your mouth rest on the smooth gap of skin along his waist, your chin resting against the top of his legs.

He shudders again. You catch his skin between your teeth and _suck_ sharply.

==>

Karkat smells better than anything you’ve ever smelt before in your life, which is good, because otherwise you might not be able to stand him. It’s like this salty, pungent perfume. Not musky, per se, not really – you’re not entirely sure what musk is, but you’re pretty sure you’d knew if you smelt it, and that’s not what you’re smelling. Maybe trolls don’t generate musk. (Maybe the only things that generate musk are skunks and oxen. How the hell would you know? As clearly stated before, you’re not - by any stretch of the imagination - a MUSKOLOGIST.) 

There’s a wet smell to it – not damp, not really. Like it’s constantly lubricated (which, to your knowledge, it is), and the wetness doesn’t have any time to collect and become something a little funkier. It’s the slightest combination of sweat and…possibly fish. Possibly. You’re undecided on that one. Maybe something barely floral. Or alcoholic. Something just on the very brink of bittersweet. And all that gets wrapped up in the copper, electric scent of his blood. It’s like the smell of sex packaged in rawhide tied up with a bow made of sundried olives – something alive and salty and delicious and unbearable. 

You mouth along his thighs and he shivers – he absolutely hates when you take your time, so you always go way out of your way to take as much of it as you goddamn please. You are like a fucking time pimp, man. Time is the honest hardworking ex-husband to your gold-digging divorcee. You will take time for fucking everything it’s worth and then some; you will take the kids and the dog and the goddamn summer home. Time is going to be writing you an alimony check on its very deathbed. Time is the proverbial “it” and you are very much “like a man”. You are going to take that shit so far a dog and a bunch of meddling kids couldn’t fucking stop you. _Ruh-roh_ , motherfuckers. _Ruh-roh._

You squeeze his hip, digging your nails in, slide your tongue down one side of the ‘v’ of his pelvis, grind your teeth into the skin of his leg, all the while taking deep whiffs of him. Your little soldier seems to have reassumed parade rest. Satisfied, you draw your right hand back up your chest, lifting a finger as it goes beneath him so it runs slowly along him from back to front. He jerks and a tiny stream of genetic material oozes from his bulge slit, inching down to mingle with the rest beginning to collect between his skinny little legs.

Yeah. You are literally the coolest of all cool kids. The Polar icecaps could take lessons from you.

==>

Every single goddamn body fluid Karkat has jamming through him is brightass fire engine red, nook and bulge excretions included. The first time you bled in front of him (you got this really heinous exhaustion nosebleed after you stayed up three days in a row to make all the necessary updates to the SBAHJ website) he jumped your ass six ways till Sunday. The first time John bled in front of him (walked into a door, ridiculous bucktoothed loveable buffoon of a bromate that he is) he broke down and motherfucking wept like a goddamn pack of rabid E.L. Jameses at an advance showing of Breaking Dawn. Shit was embarrassing. Took you almost thirty minutes to shoosh him after that. Well. For John to shoosh him. You didn’t actually help all that much. 

You reach up and cup his nook fully with your hand, rocking slowly and his head sags for a moment – you press your palm up, genetic material slicking your skin, and when you pull it away, there’s a translucent pink ooze collecting there. You grab his leg again, damp hand sliding unevenly, finally dipping in to lay a kiss to the foremost frontal edge.

He whimpers.

Fuck yeah.

==>

God damn it, nook. You could write a fucking Ode to Nook. Something like 

_Oh sweet glorious nook  
How is it possible that you can be  
So tender and incredibly delicious  
When your purveyor is such an unbearable fuckstain_

_Sincerely Dave_

…okay, that’s not exactly an ode, it’s more of an open letter. Hey, you can’t be instantly good at everything. You assume good ode-writing is a skill one must hone delicately. Like truly sick flows. It’s not like you were born spitting as ill as you do now. You had to work for that shit. Train in the mountains for decades with little rap-nasty hermits, relying only on your wits and your exceptionally debonair deportment in order to survive. You assume odes operate in basically the same way.

You crane your neck, hands framing Karkat’s pelvis as you move in, stroking him with your tongue. He chirrups, whimpers, and you mouth him; you run your tongue along the thick, fleshy leaves of his nook and you inhale, and it’s like you’re drowning in a sea of Karkat, which is not nearly as bad as you may have once thought. The smell overwhelms everything else – it worms its way into your nose and your chest, it sinks into your pores. You can taste it in the back of your mouth, although you’re a little preoccupied on that particular front, what with him dripping and all. He dribbles a little on your neck and your chin. You press your mouth to him fully, drinking in his scent and trying to analyze his taste as it coats your tongue; much less pungent than the smell, the texture thick and viscous, but the taste almost clean, like saliva. There’s an aftertaste, though, like the aftertaste of dark chocolate, slightly bitter, slightly sour. Mostly just motherfucking exquisite.

==>

You move in deeper. You’re content to explore the whole thing with your mouth, probing with your tongue, occasionally sucking at the folds of him; you put some real effort into it, reaching over his hips to tug him closer, further on top of you. Genetic material smears across your nose and your chin and you are happier than a squirrel in a goddamn nut-sorting room. Your entire face is painted in light smears of pink. It sticks your hair to your cheeks, and it floods your mouth. You wiggle your tongue and you feel him shiver _around you_ and holy shit this is the bossest ever.

You have him by the thighs, jaw undulating as you swallow and move, and he’s almost doubled over, hands clenched at either side of your head, claws digging holes into the pillow. You’re rocking your face along the whole of him, dragging your tongue from the very back of his nook to the very front, and you can see his face when you’ve just finished one stroke and you’re about to start another. His blush stretches all the way into his ears and his neck; his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is wide open as he pants, chest heaving. You can see his fangs whenever they catch the light, but the rest of him is semi-eclipsed by shadow. His shoulders lurch every once and awhile, like he’s really struggling to hold himself together. Every time you dip especially low, a sound will tear its way out of his throat, be it a whine, or a moan, or a grunt, or that ridiculously strange chirping noise he can’t seem to help making. His hips are trembling like he wants to move. You’re definitely not the one stopping him.

==>

[Hide Dialoglog]

KARKAT: hrnnghhhkjsksafh  
DAVE: yep there we go  
DAVE: i was wondering when that thing was gonna come out to play  
KARKAT: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP GHHHfaahhhaslfklkflkx

==>

Karkat’s bulge makes its way into the arena around half past Told You So, and a quarter ‘til Late to the Party. You press the base of your tongue up against his nook and then, with minimal preamble, you can feel it unsheathed, caressing your face, stroking your forehead and your cheeks like a regular tentacle face massager. It’s thick and malleable but for the thin, unyielding ridges of bone along the underside, slick and sticky, flushed deep red with the color of his blood; you already know that it moves almost completely on it’s own, beyond all conscious command on Karkat’s behalf, and that’s kind of what you like about it. The bulge is honest. Affectionate. Like the nook, but less subtle. You reach up with one hand, suckling, and it wraps around your wrist, sliding through your fingers one by one, reminding you of an octopus’ leg with how damn strong and prehensile it is, how wet. It releases your arm and then worms back into your hair, stroking along one of your ears (temporarily deadening your hearing on that side as its weight and ooze seal off your ear canal), and you decide that it’s about time you redeemed Karkat’s all-season unlimited pass to the magical adventure land that is sitting on your face.

You tug his knees forward so that he finally flattens his nook to your face and holy god this is literally so awesome it deserves a top spot among the Greatest Human Achievements of All Time. Karkat is fucking trilling. Everything below your nose is literally _enveloped_ in nook right about now. Hell yes. You could not be any more enthusiastic about this if you were a thirteen-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. 

==> DAVE: OWN YOUR TITLE AS NOOK-EATING CHAMPION OF THE WORLD.

Fuck that, no, you are the nook-eating champion of the known _universe_ , and you’re about to prove it.

The best thing about nook is that it loves you back – like the bulge, you feel it shudder and move around you every so often, like you’re making out with a particularly friendly abalone. When you finally move into position (just a little deeper), you can feel it tremble in anticipation; when you make your tongue rigid and drive it deep, it actually _strokes you_ , slick, thin inner folds of flesh sucking you deeper, eating you right back so that sometimes it surprises you when you recede and everything in your mouth is still where it ought to be. You tonguefuck him almost casually, and Karkat chokes, and with just the slightest encouragement his hips twitch forward, then back, then again, with greater fervor, and then he finally gets the message and starts to ride, and you let him. It’s easier this way, even; you just keep your tongue stiff and the nook essentially does all the work for you. His bulge is pulsing, the soft, sensitive tip still hunting through your hairline as if it’s petting you. You reach over his hips and between his legs to rub your fingertips along the damp back of him, where your mouth can’t entirely reach, slipping shallowly inside him when he slides back. You devour him – pretty damn graciously if you do say so yourself – and he rides your mouth, thighs tight around your face, the proximity a little suffocating, but in a good way. 

==>

His pace stutters – you can tell that it won’t be long, which is kind of a good thing, and not because your jaw is starting to hurt (which it is), or because every time he thrusts forward with particular vigor he almost breaks your nose (which he does), but because you are quite literally so hard that it’s make you dizzy. You grip his ass, force him, if possible, even more flush against you, so that his rocking is reduced to tiny, painfully small hitches, and pour all of your energy into that goddamn delicious, damnably flirtatious nook of his. You drive your tongue so deep inside of him that you’re actually a little concerned about it being sucked out of your mouth – you can feel a painful little pinch and tug at the root, but you’re not the king of eating nook for nothing. You undulate your jaw, sucking and humming, dragging your lips across him as he drips onto your chin and around your neck, wiggling and twisting your tongue, barely able to breath as your nose gets crushed into his nook. You groan, you stroke, you twist your tongue until you’re pretty sure it’s going to pop out, and you’re getting a little dizzy from lack of oxygen, and then, with an indescribably pitiful noise, he’s cumming, genetic material gushing out of him, flooding your mouth and you swallow like the world is a desert and his nook is your fucking oasis. You gulp him down, swallowing so much it makes you a little sick, but you regret absolutely nothing. It’s a flood, bulge pumping its liquid release into your hair and all along the right side of your face and nook ejaculating excess across your throat and your collarbone, soaking the sheets. By the time it’s over you’re gasping, blinking, face completely drenched.

==>

[Hide Dialoglog]

DAVE: jegus christ  
DAVE: it is pinker than a hello kitty exposition in here  
KARKAT: ...  
DAVE: it is like a five-year-olds birthday party just exploded all over my face  
DAVE: i mean seriously dude  
DAVE: you guys take bukkake to a whole knew level  
DAVE: im kind of surprised one bucket is enough for two of you  
KARKAT: ...  
DAVE: i feel like noahs arc was really just an elaborate metaphor for troll orgasm  
DAVE: like holy shit here it comes  
DAVE: forty days and forty nights  
DAVE: of mahou shoujo sparkle ejaculate  
KARKAT: FOR FUCK’S SAKE  
KARKAT: HOW ARE YOU EVEN TALKING RIGHT NOW.

==> DAVE: LAUNDER YOUR DIRTY SHEETS.

How exactly would anyone suggest you do that? There’s a troll sitting on your face.

Also, you don’t want to. Laundry’s not really your thing.

Besides, you Karkat-proofed your sheets ages ago. You’re not a complete moron.

==>

[Hide Dialoglog]

DAVE: so are you going to maybe sit up so i can breathe or is this your way of getting even for the most recent cape incident  
DAVE: ie  
DAVE: smothering me to death via incredibly satisfied nook  
DAVE: not that i am in any way unenthusiastic about that idea  
DAVE: youre welcome by the way  
KARKAT: GIVE ME A SECOND WOULD YOU.  
DAVE: take all the time you want princess if i pass out youre going to have to be the one to explain to john how it all went down  
DAVE: oh man i can see it all now  
DAVE: hey there egbert as you can see i am your loyal buttslave karklebats  
DAVE: would you like to put your weirdly adorable alien penis inside me and watch me weep like a girl or shall i simply stand around awkwardly worshiping you with my eyes  
DAVE: quid pro quo  
DAVE: oh dave i have no idea where he might be i certainly didnt accidentally smother him to death shortly after receiving the greatest oral pleasures since the dawn of life in the universe  
KARKAT: FOR FUCK’S SAKE DO YOU HAVE A PHYSICAL INABILITY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP.  
KARKAT: DO YOU HAVE PHYSICAL RETARDATION OF THE MOUTH.  
KARKAT: BECAUSE SO HELP ME IF THAT SHIT IS CONTAGIOUS I MIGHT AS WELL JUST CULL MYSELF NOW AND SAVE EVERYONE ELSE THE AGONY OF HAVING TO ENDURE MY UNRELENTING INNOCUOUS JABBER FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.

==> DAVE: TAKE ACTION.

[Hide Dialoglog]

KARKAT: DID YOU JUST  
KARKAT: PITCH ME  
KARKAT: ONTO THE FLOOR  
KARKAT: AS THOUGH I WERE A PARTICULARLY MALFRAGRANT BEAST  
KARKAT: YOUR LUSUS HAD BROUGHT HOME IN THE NIGHT.  
DAVE: kind of think i just overestimated my own strength  
DAVE: thats kind of awesome  
KARKAT: YOU UNGRATEFUL PRATTLING FUCKWEED.

==> DAVE: MAKE YOUR KISMESIS UNCOMFORTABLE.

You drag Karkat back off the floor and onto the bed because your dick reminds you that it may be in your best interest to do so. He’s not fantastically amenable to this course of action, but that’s fine – Karkat is never fantastically amenable to anything. He claws your chest a little, which is also fine, and you wipe your nose and mouth clean on the back of your hand. Your face is soaked and sticky with drying genetic material. Your bed isn’t faring much better. Karkat looks properly embarrassed. 

[Hide Dialoglog]

KARKAT: FOR FUCK’S SAKE AT LEAST TOWEL OFF YOUR FACE.  
KARKAT: WHAT SORT OF BARBARIAN ARE YOU.  
DAVE: hey  
DAVE: what did i say  
DAVE: about pillow talk  
KARKAT: DEAR GOD I HATE YOU SO MUCH.  
DAVE: jegus kid slow down  
DAVE: throwin the h-word around like that  
DAVE: gonna give a guy the wrong idea  
KARKAT: YOU ARE BY FAR THE MOST PREPOSTEROUS BULGECRAMPING FUCKSTICK I HAVE EVER HAD THE IMMENSE DISPLEASURE TO KNOW.  
DAVE: gonna go ahead and preemptively call big spoon  
KARKAT: WHAT, FUCK YOU, I WANT THE BIG SPOON.  
DAVE: what dude you can barely handle being the little spoon slow your row  
DAVE: besides weve only got about ten minutes before i get tired of spooning and get all up on that like were in some kind of transdimensional rap video  
DAVE: so you better little spoon like the fucking wind  
KARKAT: FUCK YOU.  
KARKAT: I AM GOING TO SPOON THE FUCK OUT OF YOU.  
KARKAT: YOU BETTER FUCKING PREPARE YOURSELF STRIDER.  
KARKAT: I AM GOING TO SPOON YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR PATHETIC LIFE.  
DAVE: kay cool

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have absolutely, positively, beyond all doubt, hands-down the MOST RIDICULOUS BOYFRIEND EVER. 

You’re a Strider.

You make do.


End file.
